


never could be sweeter than with you

by keepurselfalive



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M, unfinished ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepurselfalive/pseuds/keepurselfalive
Summary: Collection of unrelated Maycury drabbles, ficlets, and unfinished stories I've given up completing.





	1. kitten (for keeps)

There's a cat that comes around at night – Freddie's not sure who it belongs to, maybe the people across the street? It's a really nice cat, and he's pretty sure it's a girl and he's sort of pseudo-named her Bella, since she doesn't have a collar or tags and she's just a beautiful little thing. She's fluffy, light gray and white and probably some orange mixed in there somewhere – sometimes she flops on the porch in the middle of the day, but mostly she meows her way around the steps after dark. Freddie's started putting out a dish of cat food for her. Freddie's never actually seen her eat any, but the dish is constantly empty, so he guesses her owners aren't taking too good care of her, or some other neighborhood stray's bogarting the Friskies.

"Or maybe she's just really greedy," Brian says one night, running his hand over the cat's fur absently.

"I don't think so, darling," Freddie says. "See how thin she is?"

"Maybe she's just a small-boned cat."

"Maybe you're just a small-brained person." Freddie hefts the unprotesting cat into his lap, and waggles her paws onto Brian's thigh. "Feed me, Seymour." The cat licks Brian's jeans. "See? She's desperate for attention."

"A kindred spirit, huh?"

"Fuck you." But Freddie's smiling.

"Did you ask around to see who she belongs to?"

Freddie shakes his head – he probably will, sooner or later – and releases Bella, who perches for a confused moment, a feline bridge between his legs and Brian's, and then decides that Brian's lap is the nicest after all. Yeah, Freddie can't really blame her.

They've just finished with their first tour, during which time Freddie discovered that Brian's lap pretty much _is_ the nicest for napping and getting absently petted (which Freddie sort of loves, which makes him what, like an overgrown cat? He doesn't need to think about what his tactile issues say about him; he can just enjoy Brian's fingers through his hair, thanks). He plans to claim Brian's lap again for the next leg of the tour as well.

Bella's in a total state of bliss, belly-up in adoration sprawled over Brian's legs, eyes slitted in pleasure. Freddie watches the carelessly graceful movement of Brian's hand over her fur and thinks maybe his eyes are slitting too, like, sense-memory or whatever.

The night's as sweetly cool and Freddie's arms are wrapped around his knees and the light from the window is casting this happy box of gold onto the two of them, haloing them, shining like the sun on the water on Brian's hair. Just sitting on the steps in the nighttime, the neighborhood all around, comfortable and real and feeling like nothing so much as _home_.

"You could adopt her, maybe, if she doesn't belong to anyone," Brian says.

"Maybe you could adopt her." The cat's clearly in love with Brian; she's got good taste. "We could share her. Alternate weekends."

"Joint custody's hard on the kid. We'd have to stay married for her sake."

Brian smiles, completely at ease and sure of himself, and Freddie can feel his chest tighten. He reaches out blindly for Brian's hand and finds Bella instead, warm and purring under Brian's touch, and their fingers meet in the silky fur.

He can hear a mom down the street calling out, time to come in, time for bed. The curl of Brian's hand is quiet beneath Freddie's. The cat lies between them, purring contentedly. He thinks about things he gets to keep, and he keeps his fingers pressed to the steady, constant pulse of Brian's wrist.


	2. these quiet moments

Sometimes there's this brief period of time when Brian's drowsy and content. Freddie finds it absolutely fascinating.

 

Brian slows down, _winds_ down like a clock-work boy, eventually stilling and sliding into sleep.

 

It doesn't happen very often, because Brian and insomnia are life-long best friends and Brian is permanently switched to _on_ ; he just goes and goes and goes and _goes_ until he drops. He doesn't fall asleep as much as pass out and Freddie has watched him shut down in the middle of meals and animated discussions.

 

He sleeps for 18 hours straight before bounding back onto his feet and starting all over again.

 

It's a rough, ragged cycle, one that takes it's toll on Brian and Freddie and everyone else in Brian's sphere of influence. They're all used to 3am phone calls, to Brian pounding at the door at odd hours until he's let in, a grin that doesn't reach his eyes on his face. He's wide-awake, revved on anxiety and caffeine and needs to keep moving.

 

But it's these other times, these softer times, that Freddie treasures.

 

Brian's jagged edges are smoothed over and he's calm and peaceful, almost zennish. The voices inside his head, the ones that tell Brian he's not smart enough, talented enough, funny enough, are silent. Brian lets Freddie praise him, compliment him, love him without argument, and that's a telling difference to Freddie.

 

Sometimes it's sex, sometimes it's good food and a movie, sometimes it's wine and a long hot bath. It's nothing and everything and Freddie wants to know the secret of these episodes. Freddie wants Brian to spend more time like this, relaxed, soft-edged, and _loved_.

 

He combs his fingers through Brian's curls, scratching gently at his scalp, a soothing motion that has Brian humming softly and cuddling closer. "S'nice," he mumbles softly and Freddie can only agree.


	3. sleep

After the fifth night of pretty damn near no sleep, Freddie didn't so much ask Roger to switch places with him for a while as he begged, threatened, cajoled, and eventually bribed him. 

 

Roger, who was a smart guy, had played very reluctant to swap rooms without appropriate compensation.

 

"This is complete and utter highway robbery," Freddie bitched, handing over all the cash in his wallet, the autograph he's been carrying around since Paul McCartney gave it to him the first time they met, two pictures of Deaky’s kid, and a ring made of bent paperclips that Brian had once jokingly presented him.

 

Roger accepted the cash and trinkets serenely. "Nothing in life is free," he said, which was utter bollocks because it seemed to Freddie that he was always giving things away for free, but then Roger snagged the key and left to go take Freddie’s place with John and Freddie had what he wanted, which was what mattered.

 

He headed into the room, and there was Brian, on the couch, frowning over his guitar.

 

" _Brian_ ," he said, relieved like he hadn't seen Brian in a year. Knowing very well that he was risking life and limb, he picked the guitar up, put it on the bed while Brian made outraged, angry noises and grabby hands, and then he collapsed face first into Brian's lap, sighing heavily.

 

Brian twitched, but the angry noises stopped. "Hey," he said, instantly concerned, one of his hands settling on Freddie's back between his shoulder blades. "You all right?"

 

Freddie rolled onto his side, facing Brian. "If I said yes, would you kick my arse for putting your guitar down?"

 

"In a heartbeat," Brian said without having to think about it, and Freddie nodded, which felt strange considering his cheek was resting against warm denim and the solid strength of Brian's thigh.

 

"Then no, darling, I'm not all right, I can't sleep, entertain me," Freddie said, and he started worming an arm behind Brian's back. Brian looked bewildered but obligingly made room, which meant slouching a little, which meant his hips pushing forward, and Freddie looked affectionately at the bulge of his cock in those tight jeans and thought about kissing it; not like he was really trying to start something, but just to show his appreciation.

 

"No," Brian said, clearly knowing just what Freddie was thinking. "I seriously have work to do, Freddie. I can't--"

 

"I am your frontman," Freddie said, curling his arm more tightly behind Brian, fisting his hand in Brian's shirt. "I come before your other work."

 

Brian touched his hair and Freddie pushed up against his hand like a cat. Brian looked like he was trying not to smile. "You're _Freddie_ ," he said. "You don't come first  _just_  because you're the frontman."

 

And how was Freddie supposed to resist that? 

 

He leaned forward and gave into the urge to kiss Brian through his jeans, to breathe hotly against the swell of his cock. Brian's hips twitched and his hand clenched in Freddie's hair, which was normally pretty awesome and a sign of Brian's total willingness to give Freddie whatever he wanted, but mid-breath, Freddie yawned so hard his jaw cracked, and Brian's hand switched back to petting.

 

"I'm not having sex with you when you're so tired you might accidentally yawn and bite off my dick," Brian said. "You want to go lie down in the bed?”

 

"I want to stay right here," Freddie said, and kissed Brian again just because he wanted to, because Brian had said no, which was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. "We've got all night to go to bed, anyway. Let's stay right here, darling.”

 

The hand in his hair scratched lightly at his scalp. "Yeah, well, it's not like could I go anywhere, with you in my lap," Brian said after a while, and Freddie smiled, because that was it. That was exactly right.

 

"You could try, and I'll try to stop you," he offered anyway. "That could be kind of fun."

 

Brian snorted, tangling his fingers in Freddie's hair before smoothing it flat again, trailing his fingers down Freddie's cheek, brushing a thumb under his eyes, over the dark shadows Freddie knew he had. It was easier to sleep, when he was tucked in a bunk across from Brian; easier still to sleep tucked in with him. Switching roommates every couple of weeks was a good idea, he knew it was, they all fought a lot less when they had regular breaks from each other, but sometimes when his room was all sunlight and big empty bed, it was like his whole body ached to be back with Brian.

 

"Or you could just shut up and take a nap," Brian murmured. "And I'll wake you up when I'm ready to go to bed."

 

Freddie smiled again and tightened his arm around Brian. He curled up closer, enjoying the rhythm of Brian's quiet breathing, the feel of his own heart thumping away in his chest. "Yeah," he said. "Just wake me up when you're ready." And, feeling all kinds of contented, peaceful and totally fucking exhausted, he closed his eyes, and went to sleep.


	4. temporary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild mature content, angst.

Here, they fit. In this room, in any room, away from the world, with the door locked tight and the shades drawn, they fit together so well that Brian can't imagine why they're not the most perfect couple who have ever existed.

But outside, in the light, it all falls apart.

Cameras and people and opinions and parties, work and gossip and ghosts from the past that won't stay buried. Freddie is easily distracted, his focus erratic, and no matter how hard Brian tries to keep his attention, he always wanders away; something,  _someone_  tempting him from Brian's side.

But right now, they're here, only the two of them, and Brian can forget, pretend that nothing else matters.

He's lying on his back, Freddie straddling him, looking down through tangled hair that brushes near his shoulders. Brian's hands move up over the gentle dip and curve of Freddie's waist, sliding up his chest, thumbs tracing sharp circles on his already tightened nipples, moving down to his cock, feeling him harden further under the touch.

"Fuck," Freddie murmurs, inhaling a gasp and throwing his head back, and Brian can't stop himself, has to pull Freddie down on top of him, roll them over so Freddie's beneath him, gazing upwards with greedy, knowing eyes.

Brian grabs his wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head, and then forces his knee between Freddie's legs, spreading him wide.

Freddie bites his lip and moans, low in his throat, and Brian leans in.

Afterwards, his thighs are still trembling and there's an aching, unsteady pulse in his body that won't stop even as he begins to catch his breath.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Freddie whispers, resting his head on Brian's chest.

"Yeah," Brian replies, trying not to let the bitterness seep into his voice. The knowledge that this is only temporary, that they'll leave this room and nothing will have changed, is almost unbearable.

But it is what it is. He'll take whatever scraps Freddie will give him, not caring if it makes him pathetic. If this is all he can have, then this is what he'll accept.

"Yeah," he says, again, stroking his fingers carefully through Freddie's hair, "me too."


	5. observations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly dont know if freddie was ever into pot, but i figure rock band in the 70s, there's a decent shot lol

When Freddie smokes pot one of his absolute favorite things to do in the world is to watch Brian apply eyeliner. There's something ridiculously sensuous in the careful slow sweep of his hand, the instinctive fluttering of his eye. Brian will make faces at Freddie when the eyeliner has dried, rolls his eyes and scrunch up his nose and all sorts of stupid things that don't make Brian as ugly as Brian seems to suspect he is all the time.

 

Freddie tried putting the eyeliner on Brian one time, the way he does for Deaky, but that was a bad idea and nearly ended in blindness. Brian forgave him easily, the way Brian forgives all three of them and not much of anybody else. Freddie knows Brian's language, even if he doesn't always speak it, knows how Brian says, "I love you" without ever acknowledging that the words exist.

 

Sometimes Brian will grin at him while he's applying the stuff--which Freddie thinks is showing a lack of care for his own well-being, but that's sort of Brian in a nutshell. He'll say, "What the hell are you watching for? I do this before shows all the time."

 

"Mm," Freddie will say, because sometimes Freddie doesn't have words. It doesn't really bother him, he has his music and he tells people things just fine with it. Except for times like these, when Brian wants to hear things and Freddie hasn't a clue of how to tell him.

 

Brian says, "You're a strange one, Fred.”

 

"Pot," Freddie tells him, and means it as half of pot-and-kettle, but Brian laughs and says, "Maybe you should lay off a bit."

 

Freddie smiles. "Don't like me like this?"

 

"Like you just the way you are," Brian says genuinely, looking into the mirror and drawing a careful, clean line, not blinking once. Brian always does that, has these moments of unselfconscious sincerity that fill Freddie with warmth, even though he never knows what to do with them, what to say.

 

Freddie grins at him and moves past it, like always. He'll buy Brian a present later, and because Brian knows him better than Freddie had ever expected, he'll know it's Freddie's way of saying _thank you for never trying to change me_. "Wanna go to a club afterward?" Freddie likes watching Brian dance, too, all gangly limbs. It's almost as good as this, if not as intimate. Then again, Freddie gets to take Brian home at the end of the night, so he could sort of give a shit less about intimate.

 

"Haven't had enough looking at me?" Brian asks, his tone slightly amused, intensely sarcastic.

 

"No." Freddie isn't going to elaborate, isn't going to admit that sometimes he gets distracted during fucking  _concerts_ , and okay, maybe he should lay off the pot a little, but he doesn't think it would help. Brian is Brian. Who in their right mind is going to look away from that?

 

"You just like me when I'm tired and willing to do anything you want."

 

Freddie does really,  _really_  like that. "Yes."

 

"Such a gentleman," Brian tells the mirror.

 

It's okay though, because Brian loves Freddie the way he is.

 


	6. oncoming

When the storm hits it comes seemingly from out of nowhere, but that could be--Brian reflects--because they're from England, and England doesn't have storms like this. England's storms are things of energy and light and sound, things that comfort Brian in the slow onset of summer even as he knows not to go too close, not to touch. 

The prettiest things are often the most dangerous.

This storm isn't pretty, but it's plenty dangerous. It hits somewhere between Little Rock and Tulsa. The first part isn't so bad, there's wind and rain and it's a little bit scary because the bus sways with it.

Freddie's pretty fascinated by it, running from one side of the bus to the other to watch the way the world seems to erupt around them, all jagged, splintered whites and blues in the midst of pitch black.

Things go still in the wake of the tearing, driving violence of the rain and for a second Brian thinks it's over and they're all fine. Then something swirls in his chest, the same warning system he's had for as long as he's needed a warning system--pretty much his whole life.

The bus driver pulls over and says, "We have to get off."

"What?" John asks, and Brian completely agrees.

"We have to get off and lie in the ditch next to the shoulder."

"Are you insane?" Freddie asks.

"No," Roger says, "he's from the Midwest." 

By the time he finishes the word "Midwest", Roger's already hauling Freddie and Brian to the front of the bus, one hand in each of their shirts. John follows, because John's an action-oriented kind of guy, and they all trust Roger not to deliberately get them killed.

Roger deposits Brian and Freddie right next to each other, pushing them to the ground and saying, "Lie flat, keep your arms above your head, and for fuck's sake, Freddie, don't get curious."

Brian follows directions, staying as still as he can through the sheer and utter terror until he hears Freddie's frightened, "Brian?"

Then he moves because, oncoming tornado or no, he's not leaving Freddie alone, not sounding like that, not ever. He lays down atop Freddie, bringing his hands up like Roger told him. His lips are pressed to Freddie's knuckles and he kisses lightly, says, "Hi."

"There are days when I think being a local band wouldn't have been so bad."

Brian smiles even through the rushing in his head that sounds like wind and destruction. "You were always too big for just London. You'd have gotten restless sooner or later."

He doesn't think Freddie hears him, the sound of the tornado too near, and there's a pull to it, though not nearly enough to suck him in, just enough to remind him of the danger of the entity, its power. Somewhere in his mind he realizes how far from it they must be, that it can't take them, and he thinks,  _stay away, you can't have this_ , and hunches himself as tightly over Freddie as he can.

Afterward there is a silence. It is not the same silence of before the storm, it is merely the absence of so much noise. 

Brian wonders how long it was; he knows it couldn't have been as long as it felt.

Freddie asks, "So, we're still alive?"

Brian laughs against the backs of Freddie's hands. Shakily, he takes his hands from his head and moves them to where he is holding Freddie, keeping him near.

"Think you could maybe get off of me now, darling? You're heavier than you look."

And Brian will, but he's got Freddie here and safe with him, and for a second, just a second, he's not going anywhere.


	7. stories

"Brian," Freddie whispers. The curtain of his bunk slides back, and Brian opens his eyes. Freddie's a blur, a dark shape against the faint orange glow coming in through the window. "Brian, are you awake?"

 

"You know I wasn't," Brian says, cranky and sleepy, but when Freddie says, "Move over," he shoves to the back of his bunk. The wall is cold. He shivers, and then Freddie is sliding in with him, warm, tucking in close by necessity. There isn't a lot of room in the bunks, not for two. 'I'm going to lie down in my chastity device now,' Deaky says sometimes. 'Have a good abstinence,' Brian responds. 

 

Roger usually just smirks. He's gotten four naked people in a bunk before without anyone falling on the floor. He claims it as an unofficial Guinness world record. Brian, with Freddie wrapped around him and breathing on his neck, wonders why you'd even want more than two. 

 

He closes his eyes again and shifts, settling, and Freddie shifts with him, then says, "Tell me a story, darling.”

 

"Once upon a time this guy got got left on the side of the road for keeping his bandmates up past their bedtime," Brian says. "And it was really, really sad."

 

"What happened to the guy who kept his Brian up past his bedtime?" Freddie asks, and he doesn't sound sorry but the hand that settles on Brian's hip, petting a little, says something different. 

 

Brian yawns in his face; even with the petting, Freddie deserves it. He says, "Nothing bad happened to that guy. I think he slept well and woke up happy and wrote a song about it."

 

"That's my favorite story," Freddie says, quiet in the darkness, and Brian puts his hand over Freddie's and squeezes, and goes back to sleep.


End file.
